


the ice is getting thinner

by miniaturemice



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blind!Prussia, Human!Prussia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniaturemice/pseuds/miniaturemice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He will never stop wanting to press his lips against the other’s. Matthew doesn’t think he will ever fall into familiarity with Gilbert. Granted, they have known each other for decades but they’ve only been with each other for years. </p>
<p>It’s not fair, Matthew thinks. It isn’t. </p>
<p>Or the one in which Gilbert is blind and Matthew wants to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ice is getting thinner

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Death Cab for Cutie's "The Ice is Getting Thinner."

_The ice is getting thinner under you and me_

Sometimes Matthew thinks that it might be better if he left and didn’t look back; didn’t come back. But as he packs his suitcase quietly in the room next to his’s, he is struck by the overwhelming urge to stay and see this through to the end. Although he cannot bear it, cannot imagine it and does not ever want to go through the pain that he knows will surely come. He sits at the edge of the bed and lets the tears fall, streaming down his face. He cries soundlessly, torn in not just two, but many pieces. 

 When his tears finally stop (and it feels like he has cried forever), he picks up his packed bags and walks downstairs to place them beside the door. He looks out of the window and  sees the snowy white landscape of his country. He stares out sightlessly, in his mind he has already walked a long way and the only sound that can be heard other than the harsh wind are his own soft footfalls. He steels himself and reaches for the keys in his pocket. But his fingers do not close around a familiar polar bear keychain and he stiffens, realising  he left it in  _his’s_  room.

Matthew wonders what he should do, he knows that if he were to go to the other man’s room, he would not be able to leave. His fingers curl and clench, his fingernails sharp and press hard,long enough to leave half-moon imprints on his palm. He thinks.

And then slowly, he unfurls his fingers and rubs his thumb over the silver band on his left ring finger. As he walks back up the staircase, he plays with it, twisting it back and forth. He pulls it off and puts it in his jean pocket. When he reaches the landing, he hesitates before pulling open the door. 

As he had expected, the older man is sleeping, his chest rising and falling. His pale features and white hair are familiar to Matthew, he has known the other for years (and years and years and Matthew wishes he could know him for all the years after). Matthew pads over, his footsteps muffled by the soft carpet. He stops in front of the dresser, so close to his keys. But the other man stirs and without opening his eyes, he looks (and Matthew can  _feel_ it) and says,

“Mattie?”

Matthew stops breathing, wondering if he held his breath, would the other not notice? But a pale and bony; almost skeletal hand gropes around the air beside him and his fingers wrap themselves around the younger man’s wrist. 

“Mattie.” Even without looking, Matthew can hear the smile in his voice. And inside Matthew, something breaks and gives way. Matthew does not understand why it happens so many times; he should be used to it by know, but he isn’t and he does not feel like he ever will. 

The hand tugs him down and Matthew sits on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The other man’s fingers draw circles on his arm,moving lower each time. He traces the lines on Matthew’s palm and particularly,  _particularly_ the ring finger but makes no comment about the missing ring. Matthew runs his own fingers through the other’s white hair. 

There are times when Matthew stares at Gilbert. This is one of those times. Matthew will never get accustomed to the other’s white hair, striking in the dark of the night and long enough to hide his eyes when he looks down. He will never get used to the way Gilbert’s eyes brighten when he gets an idea or laughs or when he sees Matthew. He will never stop wanting to press his lips against the other’s. Matthew doesn’t think he will ever fall into familiarity with Gilbert. Granted, they have known each other for decades but they’ve only been with each other for years.

"It’s not fair," Matthew thinks. "It isn’t. It isn’t."

He tries to fight back his tears. 

They are both silent.

It is broken by the elder man. He looks away and in a hoarse voice tells ( _reminds_ ) the other.

“I love you, I love you so much.”

Matthew does not answer, afraid that his voice will break if he says anything. And the other man would _know_. Gilbert turns his head, eyes finally open. His eyes are no longer the brilliant ruby-red they once were when Matthew met him all those years ago, his eyes are now milky white and hazy. He is completely white now, devoid of any colour. He looks at Matthew sightlessly, waiting for the answer he knows will come.

“I love you too.” Matthew says.  


End file.
